Factory Girl
by thelittlestteacup
Summary: When Rick finds her she is barely human; tortured, mutilated and broken. A shell of a woman. All he knows is that he needs to help her, heal her. He is never expecting that she will do the same for him. Eventual Rick/OC, all other pairings from 'TWD' television show will remain the same. Rating may change due to graphic themes and language.
1. You Hurt Where You Sleep And You Sleep W

**A/N: **So this is a new fic I have been working on for awhile. I'm in the process of two other 'The Walking Dead' fics (you write what you know huh?) and was initially tentative about posting this one because I still have so much left to write of my others. I was inspired to write it purely because there seems to be a shortage of Rick/OC stories out there :) If you like it and want to read more please review and I'll update it regularly. It starts in season 2, after the 'incident' at the barn, but some time before they are forced to leave and will loosely follow the canon.  
Thanks to my beta, **Calcifer179**!  
Anyway; please R&R and enjoy xo

**1.**  
**You Hurt Where You Sleep And You Sleep Where You Lie.**

Rick pushed through the overgrown forest with grim determination. Winter was almost upon them, but he felt overheated in the dense woods and a bead of sweat trailed down from his hairline, streaking the dirt that plastered his worn face. Rick was tired, dog tired. Every part of his finely built body ached, but he had to keep pressing forward, he _had_ to get back to the farm. To Carl, to…Lori.  
The small group of Walkers had separated him and Shane, forcing him to take off at a run into the woods that lined the sides of the highway. That was hours ago now, and he mentally cursed himself for getting so turned around. Damn Walkers. They were long gone, unable to keep up with his fast and steady gait, but the undead weren't the only things in these woodlands he needed to keep an eye out for and even as that thought crossed his mind a small tent crept into his line of sight, peaking like an orange beacon through the thick copses of trees.  
He slowed his jog to a careful walk, stilling his ragged and exhausted breaths until they were barely audible and made his way between the trees, ensuring he didn't drag his feet through the leaf litter. His pistol was resting in its holster on his belt, and Rick felt a little safer with the weapon faithfully by his side, but it would have to be a last result. No way in Hell he was going to fire the gun at the first sign of danger. No, his weapon of choice was the long knife he currently had gripped firmly in his right hand, curved blade down and facing away from him.  
As he made it over the slight rise, to crouch behind a thicket of bushes and cautiously inspect the area near the tent, it became abundantly clear that it was a well-used campsite. The tent itself was large, one of those expensive looking five man deals that Rick had never been able to afford back in the day, and the earth around it was cleared a few metres in every direction. A crudely fashioned fire pit was central in front of the tent, and still contained slightly smoky wood and charcoal from recent use. There were even a couple of camp chairs set up near the log fire, both a little worse for wear and weather battered, and a temporary clothes line strung up between two trees, a thick looking jacket hung carelessly over the rope.  
But despite its lived-in appearance, the campsite appeared to be deserted and Rick approached it with caution, holding the knife aloft as he silently made his way to the front of the tent, inspecting its zip carefully before reaching out one hand to brush against the fabric of the tent entrance.  
If there was someone, or something, inside the dome-like structure, it wasn't responding to his light stroking of the tent walls and the sheriff took the plunge and started slowly undoing the zip. The situation reminded him of the time the group had stumbled across a similar campsite, during their first search for Sophia and the tent had contained one very dead and decaying man, who had 'opted out', blowing his brains out the back of his head to avoid this new, harsh life. Just the memory of the smell they had encountered when Daryl had opened the tent made Rick's eyes smart and his body wretch. He prayed he wasn't about to relive that moment and be faced with another corpse, although that reality would be far better than a Walker.  
Rick stilled after the zip was finally open all the way, his grasp on the knife tightening a fraction as he waited for a reaction to the noise he had just made unzipping the tent, but again, none came.  
The floor crinkled beneath Rick's boots as he stepped through the flimsy fabric door, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom and raising his knife directly in front of him in preparation. A stale, dirty smell affronted him, like mud and unwashed skin, and his gaze whipped around the tent quickly, taking in the mess of blankets, sleeping mats and assorted clothes before his eyes lighted on the figure curled up in the furthest corner of the tent.  
She, for Rick could see now that her form was distinctly female, was staring at him with wide eyes filled with fear and something akin to curiousity and as he took a step towards her she backed further away, her jerky movements drawing Rick's attention down to a thick metal chain that encircled her neck, tethering her to the ground through a slit in the floor.  
Startled by this revelation, Rick took another guarded stride towards the young woman, whispering as he did so;  
"I won't hurt you." He refused to lower his knife, but his features softened when he saw her large, distressed eyes fill with tears and her body tense up against the tent wall.  
Dirt and blood covered literally every inch of her, making her look like she'd just crawled straight out of a horror movie, and she was clothed in only a thin, greying t-shirt and the chain that looped itself around her skinny neck despite the chill in the air. The dirt, and her emaciated form, made it impossible for Rick to determine her age, but she looked young. Young and terrified.  
"Who did this to you? Have you been bitten?" Rick murmured, noting the assorted cuts and bruises that weaved their way over her exposed and overly thin limbs.  
"Please…please…" the girl gasped, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water with the effort required in forming the words. Her voice was dry and scratched, almost inhuman and Rick felt his heart twitch in a sympathetic pang as he closed the distance between them and inspected her wasted form more closely, checking that she wasn't concealing a weapon from him.  
She instantly recoiled from his touch when he reached out to stroke her arm, like a beaten dog shying away from its master's hand, and emitted a low growl.  
"I won't hurt you," Rick repeated more firmly, his gaze travelling from her round blue eyes down her body and resting on her bloodied hands. His mouth formed a perfect 'o' when he finally saw the cause of the blood that painted her body.  
"Please…sir…Help." Every word exhausted her further, but she reached for Rick with one of her deformed hands, "I don't…I don't want to die."


	2. Since You're Not What I Want You Can Tak

**A/N: **Oh my gosh! Wow, I'm so surprised (and thrilled) at the reception my first chapter received, especially considering it was very short and cryptic. I respond to all my reviews privately, but I just wanted to say thank you to you guys again. You're all awesome! Also a huge thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read, follow and favourite this fic, it means the world to me that you are giving it a chance :)  
So I spent most of the day working with my beta, **Calcifer179** (cheers bro! The new cover art is so cool!) on drafting the storyline for this fic and it really does only loosely follow the canon. I'm taking it to a place I haven't seen any other 'TWD' fanfics go and I'm so nervous and excited to see what you all think.  
Please R&R and let me know what you're thinking of everything so far! Your words really inspire me to continue xo

**2.**  
**Since You're Not What I Want You Can Take Everything I've Got.**

She was far taller than she had looked crouched in the corner of the tent, but thankfully lighter than Rick had anticipated. Still, carrying her bridal style, while her head lolled uselessly against his chest, was getting increasingly tiring and he had been forced to stop several times, resting her limp form against trees while he caught his breath.  
How had he managed to get himself lost in these godforsaken woods? He'd been in this area a million times over the past couple of weeks, he was sure of it, but now…Now everything looked foreign and in the growing dark, threatening.  
The girl had passed out sometime between when he had started removing the tent peg that was deeply embedded into the ground, securing her chain and when he had finally managed to unwind the links of metal off her neck and drag her outside into the cooling afternoon air.  
Rick gasped as she shifted in his arms, groaning, and slowed down, hoping that the woman would wake and speak to him. He still didn't know if she herself wasn't a danger, and he definitely didn't know where they were. All he knew was that the poor girl in his arms had been tortured; her hands, both missing several fingers, were testament enough to that if her starved and scarred body wasn't.  
His change in pace had drawn attention to just how sore his body was and he needed to stop again, gingerly laying the girl on a pile of loose leaves next to him before resting his hands on his thighs and drawing in deep, hard breaths.  
The first time he had stopped running he had taken the opportunity to look the young woman over in the sunlight and instantly regretted it, winced away from the image of her ruined little body. Her hands were by far the most shocking part of her; her left hand was missing its index finger as well as part of the thumb, the top of it completely gone and her right was absent its middle and ring finger. They weren't cleanly severed from her body, the flesh was torn and ragged, the stumps that remained where the digits had once been were swollen and clearly becoming infected. The rest of her was in almost equally awful shape and out in the light a good portion of it was on display. Rick had been thankful to note that she was still wearing underwear, although the dried blood over her upper thighs didn't give him much hope that he couldn't add rape to the long list of atrocities that she had been through. The shirt she wore was oversized, hanging almost down to her skinny knees, and it only served to make her body appear even more skeletal. How this woman was still alive Rick had no idea. Her hair was matted and long, darkened with gore and mud, although its fair glint in the sunlight revealed that she was likely a blonde. He still didn't know her name, or why or how she had come to be chained up in that tent, but there wasn't a snowballs chance that he was waiting around for one of the girl's captors to come back, just like there was no way he was going to just leave her there.  
He had a feeling they were going in circles, he wasn't sure if he was any closer to the farm than when he had started, but they had to keep going. They had to get back, or find shelter, before nightfall. The thought "What would Daryl do?" crossed Rick's mind, and he cracked a wry grin at equating the redneck to Jesus. But at this moment he sure could have used his advice, Daryl would know just what to do.  
It was stupid, a basic lookout mission to ensure the perimeter of Hershel's farm gone so terribly wrong. Rick knew they'd be frantic, Lori and Carl would be wracked with worry at the thought of losing him, Shane would be feeling guilty, blaming himself for getting separated from his friend…  
They needed to get back.

* * *

As darkness surrounded them, Rick almost found himself tearing up in relief when a house appeared through the trees, its basic double storey shape one of the best things he had ever seen. Panic had been constricting the sheriff's throat like a vice, the fear that he might have to dump the young woman, still out cold in his arms, and hide up a tree for the night, to likely freeze to death, had slowly become a more real possibility. With the last ounces of his strength, Rick half carried, half dragged, the girl to the house, opening the door one handed and unsheathing his knife fluidly.  
He dropped the battered woman to the floor near the doorway, more roughly than he'd intended, and raised his weapon above his head, his other hand resting on the pistol at his waist. He had closed the door behind them, and now he moved quietly throughout the long abandoned house, making note of various exits and ensuring that it was secure, and indeed as deserted as it appeared, before heading back to the girl by the door. Both the downstairs and upstairs had been clear, of Walkers or otherwise and while the house was draughty and dirty, it was safe and would keep them protected from the weather and the undead for the night.  
Once again he took the woman in his arms and dutifully carried her to the front room, which had probably once been the lounge room when the house had still had owners, laying her on the pile of dusty blankets and pillows he had gathered from various rooms. He'd been far too tired to cart her up the stairs to the bedrooms which still contained thin and stained mattresses, and too tired to drag them down the flight of stairs, so this temporary bedding solution would have to do. It'd be a damn sight more comfortable than the conditions she had been living in at any rate.

* * *

Rick closed the door to the front room, effectively securing it from the rest of the fairly open house and set about sorting out the few useful supplies he had. The water flask, knife and gun he had been carrying with him since the morning, the three cans of beans he had found in the back of one of the predominantly bare kitchen cupboards and the single, half burned candle and box of matches he had been thankful to locate in a bureau drawer.  
He lit the candle now, but not before ensuring the windows were covered, the last thing they needed was Walkers being drawn towards the flickering light peeking through the darkened panes of glass. The young woman stirred and Rick watched as her eyelids flitted open for the first time in hours, her eyes glazed and unfocused. He waited for several moments, watching her closely, his hand hovering above the knife on the floor by his feet, as her gaze sharpened and her body began to move, stretching out as if she were waking from a deep sleep.  
In a second she sat bolt upright, hissing like a cat and backing away from Rick until she met the wall behind her.  
"It's okay! It's okay!" He uttered, raising his hands up straight so that she could see he wasn't going to harm her and praying that she wouldn't scream and alert every Walker in the woods to their location.  
She shook her head and then violently slapped her own face, wincing in pain as she did so;  
"I'm dreaming…"  
"You're not dreaming," Rick affirmed, trying to figure out how he could calm her down and convince her that she was safe with him.  
"Are you going to kill me now?"  
"What?" He gasped, eyes widening in surprise, "No. No I'm not going to kill you. I wouldn't have carried you for hours through the woods if I planned on hurting you."  
"You…you carried me?" Her voice was as rough as sandpaper and Rick's chest tightened in pity. He picked up the flask and nudged it towards her, gesturing to it when she paused and eyed him with suspicion.  
"Go on," he assured her and without a moment's hesitation she all but dove for the container, pulling it to her and crawling backwards into the wall again. Rick observed her quietly while she fumbled with the lid of the flask for several minutes, grunting in frustration and pain when her useless fingers were unable to undo its cap.  
"Here, let me." He slid across the floor towards her and she froze instantly, her upper lip twitching into a vicious snarl. Rick had had experience with victims of assault and abuse and knew that it would likely be months, if not longer, before she was any semblance of the person she would have been before all this had started. Whether the group would allow her the space and time she needed to heal, emotionally and physically, remained to be seen, but he knew that he couldn't push himself on her or force any kind of contact before she was ready. Something as simple as passing him the water flask was clearly emotional agony and she wasn't able to meet his eye while he unscrewed the cap and placed the flask on its end in front of her. She didn't dither in grasping the container and bringing it to her lips, gulping the water down with unabashed thirst.  
"I drank it all," she muttered, dropping the flask to the floor and bringing her knees up to her chest, her voice less gravelly now that her mouth and throat were moistened.  
"That's okay," Rick said, secretly wishing he had thought to take a few sips himself before offering the flask to her, it would be hours before they had water to drink again.  
"What's your name?" He asked her, rearranging the candle so that it illuminated both of them properly and he could keep a closer eye on her. She was clearly unstable, if he made the slightest wrong move who knew what she'd do.  
"Romilly," she answered confusedly, as if she may have forgotten her name herself, or it had been unused for a long period of time.  
"Romilly? Well that's a beautiful name. I'm Rick, Rick Grimes. I'm a sheriff."  
"That doesn't matter."  
"It doesn't matter?"  
"No…they'll still come for me," she answered, a twinge of sorrow affecting her voice as she tightened her grip on her knees.  
"Who will come for you Romilly? The people who had you chained up like an animal?"  
"Please…don't talk about it…" Rick saw her eyes fill with tears, little droplets of water shining in the glow of the candle between them.  
"Okay, we don't need to talk about it. Would you like something to eat?" He asked, pointing out the canned beans nearby. She looked vaguely nauseous, and shook her head wordlessly.  
"Not keen on beans?" He laughed humourlessly.  
"I don't think…I don't think I could stomach food just yet."  
"You should get some rest. We need to find my group tomorrow, and I know it won't be easy, but it'd be good if you could walk at least some of the way."  
"You want me…to go with you?" She stumbled over the words, obviously unclear as to what his motivations were.  
"I want you to be safe; you'll be safe with us. I got confused, lost and chased by Walkers…that's when I found you. But I think I know where we are now. If this is the same house I am thinking of then we're only a few hours walk from our farm. My group will help you," Rick explained. He was sure that in the cool light of day he could get his bearings and lead them back to the farm. He had to get them back.  
Romilly was steadily slipping further down the wall, unhinged and exhausted as she was. Rick hastily organised the blankets and pillows, setting them up so they would both be able to sleep separately and with relative comfort. Not that he expected he'd get much sleep, he definitely needed to keep one eye open, it wasn't just the fear of Walkers that had him on full alert. A soft snore roused him from his thoughts and he turned to face the filthy figure of Romilly as she lay in a half slumped position on the floor. He waited a few minutes, just watching the rise and fall of her frail chest until he was sure that she was out for good, before carefully placing one hand under the middle of the back and directing her to her pillow. He tucked the blankets around her, once again aware of how little she was dressed in and hoping that she stayed warm throughout the night. He snuffed the candle and used the small sliver of moonlight that shone through one of the cracked windows to find his way to his own sleeping area and slipped his boots off, shuffling under the blankets and casting Romilly a final glance while she slumbered only a metre away from him. In the filtered light she looked even younger and more vulnerable than she had earlier and his heart went out to her completely; she needed him. He was responsible for her, and this time, he wouldn't fail. He wouldn't let the person who depended on him down again.


	3. When The Light Hits Your Eyes, It's Tell

**A/N: **Holy Hell Batman! I'm simply flabbergasted by the response this fic is getting. Each and every one of you who is taking the time to read, follow, favourite and review is amazing! Special shout out to my guest reviewers who I can't reply to personally; high fives all round!  
So lets see if we can keep up with the regular posting and reviewing ;) I have chapter 4 of this bad-boy ready to go (and it explains a fair bit about Romilly and what has happened to her, I know a lot of you are curious) so if you like what you're reading please drop me a review and I'll update tomorrow! Much love guys xx

**3.**  
**When The Light Hits Your Eyes, It's Telling Me I'm Right.**

Rick felt warm, overly warm. His eyes were bleary with sleep and half recalled dreams as he tightened his grip on the woman in front of him. He nuzzled her long hair and breathed in her scent, enjoying the feel of her in his arms. _Lori…Lori…_  
His eyes snapped open upon realising that it wasn't his wife who he cradled tenderly against his chest, but Romilly, who still slept soundly, purring softly with every breath she exhaled. Her back was pressed up against him and his arm had fallen naturally over her tiny waist. He had no idea how they had managed to move together during their sleep, or how he had managed to drift off so deeply, but now he felt warm, too warm and it took him several moments to become aware of his erection. It was pressing into Romilly's back, at the base of her spine, and Rick was relieved that she was blissfully unaware of it. With a groan he rolled quickly away from her, untangling himself from their now shared blankets, and stood awkwardly facing the closed door, waiting for his morning wood to die down. Despite the fact that he knew it was just a natural response to waking, Rick felt deeply ashamed of the involuntary reaction his body had had to Romilly. She was so damaged, so young…  
The girl was still sleeping so soundly it was almost a shame he had to wake her, but they had slept later than Rick had intended, judging by the bright light trickling through the half-covered windows of the lounge room, and a good few hours of walking remained ahead of them.  
"Romilly," he whispered, when he was sure his hard on had fully subsided, crouching near the woman's head and nudging her shoulder gently. She began to stir, whimpering softly in her half-sleep, uncurling her body like a stretching cat, but not yet opening her eyes.  
"Romilly…we have to go," Rick touched her again, pressing lightly on her upper arm that was barely exposed under the mess of blankets. Without warning she bucked away from him as if having received an electric shock and a few quiet sobs slipped through her cracked and pale lips.  
"Honey, it's okay. You're okay. You're safe with me remember." He kept his tone as soothing as possible, wishing there was something more he could do to comfort and reassure her.  
"Please…please…let me go." Rick pieced together the words amongst her sleep-affected mumblings and whimpers, alarmed by the sheer terror in her voice. The world may have gone to Hell, but it had succeeded in taking this girl with it and he'd be damned if he didn't get her some help, and soon. The wounds on her body were looking even worse today than they had previously and the sheriff knew that Romilly needed medical attention, and fast.  
With a gasp, the young woman was awake, staring at Rick with wild and bruised looking eyes;  
"Rick…?" She stuttered, whispering his name for the first time, in a childlike voice.  
"Do you want to eat before we go?" It was all he could think to ask her, all he could give her in terms of support until she was ready to talk to him, but even before she shook her head he knew her answer would be no.  
Rick ate a can of cold beans hurriedly, and in silence, watching Romilly as she stretched out her legs and rubbed her bare, and filthy, feet. The morning air was cool, but Rick knew it was only a matter of time before the sun was high and the heat would bear down on them with a fiery glare. The sooner they headed off the better, that'd be okay once they got to the creek.  
He noticed that the woman avoided looking at her hands, holding them tenderly and preventing them from coming into contact with objects. The stumps of her fingers were partially healed, the blood around them caked and dried, but both her hands from finger to wrist looked inflamed and swollen under the gore and mud that encrusted her fair skin. Rick couldn't begin to imagine how painful it was, or the torture she must have gone through when the fingers themselves had been removed. It was clear this girl was a fighter though, for as soon as he told her he would bandage her hands and began pulling strips of cloth from their discarded bed sheets, regretting not cleaning her up sooner; she simply steeled herself and looked away. She flinched more from his touch than from the pain it seemed and Rick attempted to keep their physical contact to a minimum as he wound the makeshift bandages around her hands entirely so they had the appearance of mummification and she no longer had use of any of her remaining fingers. At least it would keep them protected while they made their trek back to the farm, a journey that Rick couldn't delay any longer as he urged her to stand behind him and follow him out of the house.

* * *

"He'll be back soon Lori. Shane and Daryl will find him," Dale said comfortingly, patting the distraught woman's shoulder awkwardly.  
"It's been over a day now…I just keep thinking about what happened with Sophia…" Lori murmured between quiet sobs. Thoughts of Rick and what he might be going through had reduced her to breaking point, and as every hour crept slowly by the idea that he would be returning unharmed seemed less likely to her. After everything they had been through, after every challenge they had faced, this was the last thing they had needed. As Lori rubbed her belly, still not showing any signs of the baby growing inside her, she wondered if she would be forced to raise the child alone or if Shane would step up and fill Rick's shoes as he had done when all this had begun. She mentally chastised herself for even thinking that her husband may not be coming back, she needed to stay strong, for Carl, for the baby…

* * *

They were growing weary. Even though Rick was sure they were just hours from the farm, fatigue and hunger were starting to overwhelm them. He had celebrated quietly when Romilly had stumbled upon the creek, waving to it with one mangled hand and even smiling shyly when the older man had helped her to drink the water once he'd refilled his flask.  
The water had been a cool relief in the baking sun, but now they were back to stomping through the woods, the only sound their feet moving through the undergrowth and the occasional tweeting of a bird, a noise so normal that it almost made Rick forget the reality of their situation.  
If the girl was bothered by walking so far with bare feet, she didn't show it, merely keeping her head bowed and following Rick through the trees in silence.  
A low growling from the trees ahead of them immediately caught Rick's attention and he raised his hand to alert Romilly, who came to a sudden halt behind him, listening intently.  
The Walker lurched through the bush towards them, its face contorted in a look of pure hunger as it howled and cried, dragging its decaying body forward. It had once been a man, now rotted and emaciated to the point where he no longer looked remotely human.  
Romilly stepped back, hissing slightly under her breath as Rick withdrew his knife and quickly stabbed the blade through the Walker's eye, the steel meeting air on the other side. The undead creature crumpled to the ground with a sickening thud, its black blood mingling with the dirt underfoot.  
"Are you alright?" Rick asked, turning back to the woman who was hiding behind him, a look of distaste plastered across her small face. She met his eye and he saw his own fear reflected in her blue gaze;  
"I'm fine," she muttered, stepping around him and kicking the Walkers side with her naked foot, grimacing a little when the twice dead corpse shifted with the contact.  
"We're getting close now," Rick began, wrenching his weapon free of the Walkers eye socket, the knife sliding back through what remained of its brain fluidly, "We've got to press on. You okay to keep walking?"  
"I'm fine Rick," Romilly urged, a hint of frustration in her voice. Rick saw that dark blood had started to seep through the bandages that encased her hands and he frowned; worried that she had opened one of her healing wounds during their walk. He chose not to comment, however, knowing she wouldn't react well to him asking to rewrap her hands and inspect her injuries. That was best left to Hershel anyway, if she'd even let him touch her.  
They walked in tandem for a while, once again Rick lead the way, his hand never straying far from the knife at his belt. Both were on high alert for anymore Walkers, although the forest remained eerily silent. The sheriff paused at a tree, noting the piece of torn blue shirt nailed to its trunk. They definitely weren't far from the farm now, he thought, sighing in relief and thanking God that his sense of direction hadn't failed him. This was the territory that Andrea and T-Dog usually patrolled, which meant they should be back at the comfort of the Greene's property within the hour. Lori, Carl…they would soon be in his arms again and it was a reunion he couldn't wait for. He'd already gone through the feeling of fearing their loss, it wouldn't happen again. But despite his longing to be with his family again his main priority was Romilly's safety. Something about her round, blue eyes and poor broken body struck a chord with him. He knew in his heart she wasn't a danger to their group. But the people who had been holding her captive and torturing her…they were an entirely different story.


	4. Take Me I'm Alive, Never Was A Girl With

**A/N: **Nice long chapter for you guys :) Hope you enjoy it! This chapter comes with a bit of a trigger warning, it details some of the abuse Romilly has suffered. So what are you all thinking of her so far? How's my Rick (and the other characters which are introduced in this chapter!)?  
Thank you to everyone who is reading this story and adding it to their alerts. A special thank you to those who are reviewing and messaging me; it makes me so happy that you are liking it. There really is a shortage of Rick/OC fics out there! Seriously, this story is one of the top ones if you search Rick/OC pairings by reviews, which just goes to show how few there are.  
Thanks to my beta, **Calcifer179**. He had a huge hand in developing this story and you should check out his stuff :)  
Anyway, please R&R and I'll keep going with these updates! I have two little boys and they keep me very busy, but I'm happy to prioritise this story over my other ones if you are all loving it :D

**4.**  
**Take Me I'm Alive, Never Was A Girl With A Wicked Mind.**

"Is that Rick?!" Andrea gasped, staring down the scope of the rifle towards the figures emerging through the trees across the field.  
"Don't shoot Andrea!" Glenn joked, a smile etching its way across his fine face, "He probably isn't a Walker."  
"Believe me I have learned to control my itchy trigger finger…Wait, he's not alone!"  
"What?" Glenn stepped forward to the edge of the RV's roof, peering in the direction of the approaching figures through his binoculars. The larger shape moving slowly towards their camping area did appear to be the sheriff, although he moved without his usual ease, ambling forwards in a tired and stilted fashion. A second figure emerged from behind him, although their identity was obscured by bright reflections of light thanks to the suns low position.  
"Is he a Walker?"  
"I'm not sure," Glenn replied, biting his lip, "We should go and get the others."  
Andrea handed him the gun and climbed down the RV ladder effortlessly, setting off at a run towards the group of tents. Within moments Glenn heard the steady rise of voices, a mixture of concern and excitement, and the group appeared around the side of the camper, Lori leading the way as she jogged towards the duo making their way across the field.  
Glenn hopped agilely off the RV roof, his feet barely touching the ladder, and ran to catch up with the small crowd who were closing the distance between themselves and the figures.  
"Lori! Carl!" A tortured voice cried out, Rick's voice, and the man ran to his family, embracing them in a way not dissimilar to how their initial reunion had been. It was impossible to differentiate the individual voices of the group as they swarmed Rick, clapping him on the back and pulling him into quick hugs, thankful that he had returned seemingly unharmed.  
"Where's Shane? Daryl?" Rick suddenly asked, staring around at the faces that greeted him.  
"They're still out looking for you," Dale answered, smiling warmly at their leader, "They'll be back by sundown. And happy to see you I can imagine!"  
"I'm just so glad you're okay," Lori murmured, breathing in her husband's scent and hiding her tears in his shirt collar.  
"Uh Rick, who's that?" T-Dog questioned, gesturing one large hand towards the person who stood several paces away. The group, in their happiness, had momentarily forgotten the presence of a stranger, but now as one they all turned to face the woman.  
"This is Romilly," Rick replied, detangling himself from his wife and son and cautiously approaching the girl. The gathered crowd eyed her with curiousity and surprise, taking in her dirty and bloody form, her thin and tall figure…  
"Is she…is she okay?" Carol stammered, taking a tentative step towards the woman, which resulted in her backing up even further, staring at Rick with wide unblinking eyes, as if looking for help.  
"I don't know," Rick answered truthfully, "She isn't bitten though."  
"What's wrong with your hands?" Carl asked the woman pointedly, but Rick silenced him with a shake of his head. He didn't need the group panicking about the mess that was currently obscured by Romilly's bandages.  
"We'll get you up to the house," T-Dog pronounced, moving to grab the woman's arm. Romilly all but jumped backwards, snarling viciously and wrapping her arms defensively around her slight body.  
The man let his arm drop, staring at Rick with unspoken questions flittering through his brown eyes. All Rick could do was shrug and walk towards her carefully, knowing that the girl's metaphorical hackles were most certainly raised as her gaze moved back and forth from each member of the group, and her lip rose in a grimace.  
"Romilly…honey…I'll take you up to the house. We need to get you looked at okay?" Rick spoke each word patiently, reaching out to the woman, but not touching her. To his surprise she moved quickly towards him, ducking her head under his arm and pressing her body up against his.  
She was almost the exact same height as him, so it was no stretch for her to lean into his frame, her cracked lips brushing his ear as she whispered;  
"Help me."

* * *

"She's severely dehydrated and starved…I wouldn't be surprised if she was close to organ failure. Kidneys, liver…We won't know for sure until she starts eating and drinking normally."  
"How long? How long has she been like this?"  
Hershel sighed and rubbed the side of his face wearily. After he had tried to calmly examine the woman, resulting in her physically lashing out at the older man, her futile attempts at scratching him thwarted by Glenn and T-Dog, they had been forced to restrain her while Hershel injected her with a sedative. Rick had winced when the woman's desperate cries had fallen short and her head had slumped against her shoulder, arms strapped to the sides of the bed in a crude fashion. He had expected this, she barely allowed him to touch her, let alone anyone else. But it needed to be done; he wasn't having her succumbing to infection, not while he was able to help her.  
Hershel had worked fast, getting Patricia to clean various parts of her body so he could inspect the cuts and wounds that littered her skin. After a short time he had sent Rick and the other men out, keeping only Maggie and Patricia by his side, explaining to the sheriff in a brief manner that he wanted to maintain what little dignity the woman had left. Rick knew he was checking her for internal damage, checking her for signs of rape…  
"It's hard to say. I'd be guessing over three months given her physical, and emotional, state. This poor girl has been through it all Rick. Her hands…I've never seen anything like it…" The farmer stopped, unable to finish his sentence, and a pained looked twisted his features.  
"What?"  
"It would be bad enough if her fingers had just been cut off Rick, but they…they've been bitten off."  
"What?!" Rick repeated, his stomach contorting in an uncontrollable fashion, bile rising to his throat, at the thought of someone biting into another human's flesh.  
"There are teeth marks, torn flesh…It's not right Rick. I can't begin to image what she has been through."  
"Will she be okay?"  
"I can patch her up, the cuts on her body and her hands will heal in time. She has definitely experienced sexual assault, numerous times it appears and recently, I'm just thankful she isn't pregnant. But even her internal damage and any damage caused by starvation will repair itself eventually. But mentally? Emotionally? She's scarred for life. I would think you have dealt with victims of abuse before…"  
"Never like this…"  
"No, never like this. This is something else. You're the only one she trusts Rick, and frankly she could turn on anyone in a second. I stitched her bigger lacerations, cleaned her hands up…Really I've done all I can except monitor her for infection. I don't know what your plans are for her, but I won't have her in my house unless she is sedated or being watched over by you. I can't risk the safety of my girls. Do you understand?" The white haired man turned from where he was standing in the hallway so he faced Rick directly, meeting his eye with a hardened stare.  
"That's fair," Rick agreed, nodding, "For the best until we know for sure she isn't a danger."  
"Good. Now let's get you checked out. I think you have a touch of sunstroke. Plenty of rest and fluids…"  
The sheriff zoned out of Hershel's chatter, his eyes unmoving from the bedroom door down the hall, his thoughts unable to drift from the girl who lay on the bed beyond the door. The girl who'd been to Hell and back.

* * *

Rick raised his upper body off the inflatable camping mattress, a bead of perspiration appearing at his brow at the minor movement. He hadn't realised how tired he was until after Hershel had completed his examination and he'd finally clambered into the tent he shared with his family. Lori had helped him undress, her hands skating over the flat planes of his stomach and the sinuous muscles in his arms gently before he'd slid under the sheet and taken the opportunity to sleep. His sleep was disturbed however, disrupted by dreams of chains and blood, dirt and heat and an unbearable, overwhelming sense of fear and pain.  
He'd woken suddenly when a voice had called out his name, and despite his fatigue he was thankful that he no longer faced the nightmares that had been plaguing him.  
Carl entered the tent hurriedly, a small grin on his round face. Rick realised, not for the first time, how much his son had grown up in the last couple of months. The apocalypse did nothing if not make men out of boys. "And monsters out of men," he thought morosely, his thoughts once again returning to Romilly and everything she had been through.  
"Dad! You're awake," Carl said, his grin widening.  
"Yes, yes. I'm awake _now_."  
"Sorry," the young boy shrugged, "It's just…Shane and Daryl are back…"  
"Okay, I'm getting up. You tell 'em I'll be out in a minute."  
Carl nodded, the smile still not leaving his face, obviously thrilled his father was back with him and Rick sighed heavily as he dragged his body off the mattress, pulling on a clean set of clothes, his sheriffs outfit, which Lori had kindly thought to leave out for him. He gulped down a bottle of overly warm water hurriedly and ran his fingers through his greying dark hair. He knew of the entire group that Shane would be the least likely to welcome Romilly, he'd been…well different for weeks now. Since the incident at the barn he seemed to have mellowed a fraction, perhaps thankful that Hershel had finally relented and agreed to let the group stay longer, but he was still Shane Walsh, and a harder, fiercer Shane Walsh than Rick had ever known back in their previous life. In some ways the sheriff's deputy was just as volatile as the girl in the house tied to the bed, and Rick wasn't about to have him create more issues than the ones he already faced.

* * *

Shane's face was the first one Rick saw when he exited the tent, the sun now low in the sky, and he watched as a mixture of emotions ranging from relief to anger surged their way across the man's heavy features.  
"Thank God!" He yelled, despite the twitch of frustration that didn't go unmissed by Rick, "Shit man, thought we'd lost you forever!"  
"Just got turned around that's all. Took me a while to find my way back here."  
"I'm glad you did man," Shane replied, giving Rick a quick one-armed hug, his tone a little too flat for Rick's liking.  
A throat cleared from behind them and Rick turned to face Daryl, who was eyeing him with his usual keen scrutiny. Dixon had two looks; one was for observation and one was for anger.  
"You okay?"  
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little tired. Thanks for looking for me, both you." Rick nodded to both men in turn.  
"Ya'd do it for us," Daryl shrugged. Rick smiled slightly, forever surprised by the hot-headed redneck. After he had been forced to put Sophia down, and all their dreams of finding her alive had been dashed, Daryl had seemed to take it harder than almost anyone, withdrawing from the group and moving his tent away. The fact that he had gone back into those woods to search for him touched Rick more than he could say, and he would bet good money that Daryl preferred it to go unsaid anyway.  
"'Sides, ya kid wouldn't stop pestering me," the hunter stated, a small smirk quirking his lip.  
"Yeah I'll bet," Rick chuckled.  
"Lori said that you brought someone back with you." Shane's voice intruded upon the conversation like a roll of thunder, "Are they safe?"  
"Depends what you mean by safe I guess," Rick sighed wearily, "She's pretty torn up, doesn't like people much…" The sheriff turned to face both Shane and Daryl, the latter of whom was staring at Rick blankly, "This stays between us and Hershel, but the poor girl has been through it all. Raped, tortured. A few of her fingers were actually bitten off." He lowered his voice at the last sentence, unable to keep his tone even.  
"Bitten off? Not by Walkers? Man you did _not_ bring someone who is infected into our camp?!" Shane hissed.  
Rick shook his head mutely and watched both the men's faces grimace in disgust when they gathered the meaning of his unspoken words.  
"Oh Hell, that's sick."  
"You're telling me. Hershel thinks she was being held captive for months; she may have a lot of long term damage done, both mentally and physically. But I couldn't just leave her out there could I? Leave her out there to die…"  
Daryl nodded in agreement, still looking slightly sickened.  
"Rick you couldn't just bring her back here either, she'll be volatile, potentially dangerous. You willing to put everyone's lives at risk for some girl you don't even know?"  
"She is one, sick young woman. What can she do to the group of us?"  
Shane stepped towards Rick so their gazes were level;  
"You didn't think that maybe those whack jobs that were keeping her prisoner might come looking for her? That maybe she is something they want?"  
The man's face fell at his friends words, the realisation that he indeed may have risked all their lives finally hitting him like a tonne of bricks.  
"Rick! Rick, you have to come," Carol called, approaching the men at an ambling run.  
"What is it?" He replied, turning his back on Shane, in truth unable to look him in the eye after understanding the risk he had taken.  
"Romilly is awake, she's asking for you."

* * *

Daryl had shrugged and headed back to his tent, apparently disinterested in the arrival of a newcomer to their group, but Shane tailed Rick closely as they headed up to the farm house, practically treading on the sheriff's heels.  
Romilly was resting in the room that Daryl had been in after his accident during the search for Sophia, so Rick took the stairs two at a time, hearing the woman's husky voice echoing throughout the house as he neared the bedroom;  
"I need to see Rick! Bring him here!"  
"He'll be here soon; you need to get back into bed and rest." That was Maggie's voice whirling down the staircase, a slight edge of panic tainting her genuine words.  
"Fuck off bitch, I will destroy you." Rick could hear the venom in Romilly's voice and he broke into a run, Shane dogging his every step.  
He entered the bedroom in a flurry of movement, expecting the worst, and was confronted with the image of Maggie edging away from the bed, her back to Rick and Shane, and Romilly, who was standing next to the other side of the queen-sized bed, her hair dreaded around her face like a bird's nest and her eyes wide with unadulterated fear and rage. Maggie backed straight into the sheriff, spinning around to face him with a look of surprise and then relief. She muttered something under her breath and quickly ducked around him and Shane, who was now standing in the doorway, surveying the room, a vein throbbing lightly in his neck as he tightened his grip on the door frame;  
"So this is what you've brought into our camp, Rick?"  
Romilly hissed and narrowed her eyes before appraising Rick carefully, as if to make sure he was really there. Apart from the areas on her body that had needed to be stitched and bandaged she was just as filthy as when he had first seen her and he felt surprisingly annoyed that no one had bothered to clean her up while she had been out cold. The ratty grey shirt hung from one bony shoulder, revealing the dip of her collar bone and the sallowness of her skin. Despite his instincts, which told him that this girl was nothing but the poor victim of horrible circumstance and a good soul underneath it all, he could see why Shane was so angry, so fearful. She looked like some kind of hellish skeleton as she lurched around the bed, moving with a speed Rick hadn't known she'd possessed. To his shock she tucked herself under his arm, pressing one neatly bandaged hand against his chest and moved flush against his body.  
"Although she seems to like you well enough," Shane chuckled, still not taking his eyes off the girl as she glared thoroughly at him and made a sound not dissimilar to a low growl.  
"Shane I think it's best you leave, for now at least. Let me talk to Romilly, calm her down. She was just afraid when she woke up and I wasn't here," Rick urged, unsure of whether to touch the woman in response to her clinginess so instead letting his arms lay limply by his sides.  
Shane raised an eyebrow, almost in amusement and sighed before leaving the room without further comment. As soon as he had disappeared from sight, Romilly leapt away from Rick skittishly, coming to a stop at the foot of the bed.  
"Romilly, you can't just talk to people like that…like how you talked to Maggie."  
"She was trying to tie me up Rick, to tie my hands to the bed…" she gestured wildly to the loose bonds that decorated either side of the mattress and Rick felt the guilt rise in him again. He knew it had only been precautionary, he knew that when Romilly had started stirring poor Maggie and Carol, who had been watching over her had likely panicked, unsure of what to do and just wanting to protect themselves. But while keeping her restrained had been ideal so Hershel could sedate her it was just a horrible trigger for her when she was awake. He understood why the woman had reacted the way she did, just as he understood why Maggie had attempted to tie her hands. And he felt torn, horribly torn.  
"How are you feeling?" He asked, changing the subject and crossing his arms over himself. He watched as Romilly hopped from one bare foot to the other, completely on edge and she cocked her head to one side, not unlike a sparrow would;  
"I guess I feel about as good as I look." She managed to flash him a grin, although it cracked her lips and distorted her thin face horribly.  
"Do you…do you want to get cleaned up? Have a shower or a bath? I'm sure Hershel wouldn't mind…" He almost saw her ears prick up at the suggestion of bathing and she nodded enthusiastically.  
"Okay, I'll have to go and get one of the women…"  
Romilly snarled a no, her hand reaching down to clutch the blanket on the bed comfortingly;  
"I can wash myself Rick, I'm not a baby."  
"Your bandages…Romilly, you'll need help."  
"I'm not having a stranger in there with me. I just can't." Rick thought for a moment about how he was glad that she was finally conversing properly with him, some real sense of humanity still in her voice despite the animalistic sounds that were never far from her lips.  
"I can help you, if you'll let me," he offered, before he even had time to consider what he had just suggested. She cocked her head again, deliberating and he could guess she was weighing the pros and cons in her mind, figuring out how much being clean was really worth.  
Eventually the young woman nodded mutely and Rick smiled thinly, wondering what way was best to approach the situation;  
"I'll just have to go speak to someone…"  
Romilly's nostrils flared and her grip on the blanket tightened, Rick guessed she was one more gentle suggestion away from actually clutching it to her chest like a security item.  
"I just need to make sure it's okay with Hershel, get you clothes and towels. Will you be okay here?"  
The woman nodded again, and remained standing as she watched the sheriff head out of the room, nearly colliding into the small group that had gathered at the top of the stairs.  
Hershel stood, staring Rick down with a blank expression on his face. Beth peered from behind him and Shane was leaning with his back against the wall, a mixture of concern and genuine fear crossing his face. Further down the stairs Rick saw both Lori and Carol staring up at him in confusion and the man gritted his teeth. Romilly was unpredictable, yes, but rightly so and certainly no more dangerous than Daryl Dixon had been back at the quarry before everything had happened. The apparent distaste everyone was showing for her upset him more than he cared to admit.


	5. Does What I'm Saying Seem To Haunt You?

**A/N: **Hey all! Thought I'd get this chapter up for you guys tonight. It's just a short, sweet one with lots of tender Rick/Romilly moments. It feels a little like filler to me, but let me know what you think. I'm slowly trying to establish their relationship and Romilly's personality without rushing anything. Thanks to my fiance who beta'd this chapter for me! And of course, big thank yous to everyone who is supporting this fic so far.  
Please R&R!

**5.**  
**Does What I'm Saying Seem To Haunt You?**

The towel and change of clothes he had procured from a very reluctant Maggie gripped tightly in his hands and grit in his heart were all Rick needed before he headed back upstairs. Lori had pulled him aside on his way back to Romilly, staring at the clothing in his arms with obvious confusion.  
"She needs a wash, can't let her stay like that and she won't let anyone else touch her."  
"What? Rick I don't know how I feel about this…" Lori bit her lip and clutched her hands as she clutched at straws, "Isn't she dangerous?"  
"She's scared Lori, but she won't hurt me."  
"I'm not really…comfortable with it."  
"Oh please," he gasped, understanding the hidden meaning in her words, "You really trust me so little? I'm a cop Lori, she is just an innocent victim."  
"Okay, you know what you're doing." For some reason the conversation between them seemed stilted and awkward, but Rick chose not to dwell on it yet. If Lori needed to talk to him she would, she'd always been one to speak her mind.  
He found Romilly in exactly the same position he had left her in, standing at the foot of the bed and playing with the blanket and when he opened the door he thought he saw a sliver of a smile play on her lips before she returned to her usual mix of vacant fear and quiet rage, glowering only slightly.  
"Come on," he muttered, reaching out to her to help her down the hall and to the small bathroom. The shower was narrow, but a good fit for just Romilly's lean frame and Rick reached in to turn on the taps, adjusting the water temperature while the girl absentmindedly played with the clothes he had bought. It had been hard for Maggie to find items that would fit the taller woman, being so thin, but eventually she had come up with a pair of her father's old jeans with a belt, obviously used for work around the farm, and one of her own t-shirts that would likely hang off Romilly comically. Underwear, socks and some Converse shoes that no one had laid claim to completed the ensemble, a plain outfit, but the young woman was stroking the clothes with a kind of reverence.  
"Shower's ready," Rick murmured, averting his eyes as the woman silently pulled her baggy shirt over her head, sliding off her blood and dirt stained underwear, and arched a leg into the cubicle. She stood nervously just outside the shower for a moment before Rick heard her slip the rest of her body in, a small sigh of pleasure emitted from her lips as the pounding water touched her flesh.  
She kept her bandaged fingers out of the steady flow of water, but didn't seem fazed by the sensation of the liquid cascading over her other assorted wounds. Rick had kept the glass door of the shower open and there was nothing but curling steam to hide the woman's naked body, although surprisingly she didn't seem bothered by her nudity and just stared at the sheriff with expressionless eyes as he gave her a quick once over. She was thinner than he could have imagined possible, thinner than most of the decayed corpses he had seen, and despite the water continuously rinsing the grime off her body she was almost black with dirt, excepting the areas Hershel had cleaned so he could check cuts and scrapes. He avoided looking at her more private areas, and raised a bottle of shower gel and a washer, not quite wanting to say "I have to wash you now." She got the drift and held various parts of her body out of the shower cubicle so he could clean her without getting soaked, although as it was his clothes and skin were dampening. He ensured he only touched her gently, and never directly, always keeping the washer between his hand and her slowly cleaning skin. She was as pale as the moon underneath all the dirt and when she finally sat down in the bottom of the shower, her back to him and her head tilted his way so he could scrub her hair with the shampoo it was revealed that her hair was even lighter than he had anticipated. As he lifted the strands of her hair off the middle of her back the shape of a dark tattoo was revealed between her shoulder blades, a large biohazard symbol that contrasted with the whiteness of her skin. He chose not to comment on it and instead ran his fingers through the various knots tirelessly, knowing that it was mostly futile and her hair was stubbornly dreaded at the back.  
"Uh Romilly…" he started, keeping his voice low but above the noise of the shower, "Your hair…I can't get the knots out."  
"So cut it off," she sighed, giving him a small glance over her shoulder and shifting her weight a little, obviously growing sore of sitting on the shower floor. He hesitated before rifling through the contents of the drawers, finding a pair of scissors far sooner than he had expected. He mentioned he was about to begin, capturing her hair into his fist and cut it in one smooth motion, just above the start of the biggest tangle. Blonde waves fell to the floor in front of him and he settled her wet hair over her neck, stroking it with clumsy hands. He estimated that before it had become matted with gore it would have reached the middle of her back and now it barely skimmed her shoulders. But now it was clean, knot free and surprisingly Romilly hadn't even looked back to see the locks on the floor, not seeming to care in the slightest. He helped her stand again, and she swayed, understandably growing weak and tired.  
"Just a bit more okay Rom?" The woman smiled at the nickname and allowed him to finish washing her, grimacing more than slightly when he had reached down to gently stroke the cloth between her legs whilst offering her an apologetic smile.  
He dried her quickly and manoeuvred himself in the undersized bathroom to help her into her clothes, temporarily thankful that Maggie hadn't thought to provide a bra. He felt awkward enough touching Romilly as it was without having to put more elaborate undergarments on her. The only thing they didn't bother with was the shoes, which Rick carried back to the bedroom, the young woman leaning some of her weight on his side.  
Once they were back in the room again, noticing that someone had thought to come in and change the sheets during Romilly's absence and leave a tray with tea and a sandwich on it for her, Rick gave the woman a once over. Now that she was clean he could see her features far more clearly and he observed that was she looked even younger without the dirt caked on her flesh. Her face was sweet, heart shaped and delicate with large, wide set blue eyes and a small nose. Sharpened cheekbones and sunken cheeks only emphasised the fragility of her facial features. Her mouth was small, but her lips were full and a very light, pale pink. Her hair was an extremely fair blonde, falling somewhere between gold and white and sat straight despite its jagged length due to his quick work with the scissors. Romilly wasn't traditionally pretty, not pretty like Maggie or beautiful like Lori and Andrea. She was in fact almost alien looking, with eyes a little too far apart and limbs a little too long. But she was better looking than he had predicted and she must have seen something similar to surprise in his gaze because she flashed him a very small grin and crossed her arms over her stomach uncomfortably.  
"Thank you Rick," she rasped, shifting a little under his blue stare, "I'm feeling very tired now."  
"Romilly…we'll have to talk at some point. My group, they are worried you might be a threat, that the people who were…holding you prisoner may be a threat."  
"I know," Romilly mumbled, looking away and tightening the fold of her arms so they are almost wrapped around her, "Just not today okay? I won't hurt anyone. Just don't let them tie me down again alright?"  
"What if Hershel wants to check your injuries?" Rick asked, concern tainting his words and the woman looked up to meet his stare evenly, her sky blue eyes flashing with an undistinguishable emotion.  
"He's gotta do what he's gotta do…"  
"I'll make sure I'm here, when that time comes."  
"Go be with your family Rick, I'm tired," Romilly repeated, turning away from the sheriff slightly and sliding down onto the edge of the bed.  
"I've got to help you eat and drink first; I'm not leaving until I know you have some food in your stomach."  
The young woman grunted her assertion and allowed Rick to bring the now cooling tea to her lips, which she gulped down hungrily. After taking a few bites of the sandwich, she pushed his arm away with her semi-bandaged hand;  
"I'm done now, food doesn't sit right in my stomach yet. Can't wait until these bandages can come off. I want the use of my fingers properly."  
"I'll talk to Hershel about it, maybe we can let your hands air in a few days."  
"Thanks Rick, now get out of here." Romilly rolled herself up further onto the mattress, her movements indicating that she was preparing herself to hop under the covers and enjoy a full nights rest. Weariness flooded Rick's bones and he backed out of the room, closing the door inaudibly behind him.


End file.
